marți, 5 octombrie 2010


Privea. Putini puteau spune ce anume.
Privea poate parfumul verii trecute,
Sau poate noaptea ce nu veni pe lume
Nu privea nimica, si totusi privea multe.

"Ascunse sunt acum urmele de scrum...
Uitate sunt toate, nenumaratele soapte...
Cand, oare, voi privi cu aceeasi ardoare
Amurgurile stinse melancolic in mare...?

Regasite-s acum pustiile strazi,
Parasite, fara de vointa;
Lasate-s si case, gradini si livazi
Pierdute-n pasiune aprinsa."

Privea, si totusi privea neincetat
Precum victima-si priveste otrava
Ca un capitan privind resemnat
Cum i se scufunda nava...

"Vestede si ruginite
-s vesnic ultimele ploi,
Ale unei vieti traite
Toata-n lanul de trifoi.

Strabatuta d-eufórie
Fu copilaria noastra...
Tot ce-i ramas e discordie
Ca vremea in loc nu sta."

Acum totul e trecut
Caci timpul naparlit-a,
Iar el privea neintrerupt
Multe si nimica...


Time is a waste,
Time is immortal,
Time is just space
That cannot be altered.

Time is not sane,
You can't hear it rattle.
Time feels no pain,
It feels nothing at all.

Time's never late,
Nor does it keep us alive,
It is but a state
In which we survive

Time is the one
And only pure constant,
For, without time,
Matter is absent.

Time is what fuels
Energy to exist,
And whatever happens,
Time will persist.

Time always existed
And always will,
Forevermore twisted
Forevermore still...

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more."